


now is the time (for you and I to cuddle close together)

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley's Plans Come Back To Bite Him, Cuddling & Snuggling, Featuring such scandalous acts as, First Kiss, M/M, Movie Night, They are Softe and So Am I, Trickety-Boo Gift Exchange, as usual, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Aziraphale had spoken his name, broken him out of his thoughts. Said that he wanted this, wanted their side, and all of the things that go with it, but would like to go slow.Well, if there was something Anthony J. Crowley could be, it was slow. Regular tortoise if he put his mind to it. Just say the J stands for “Just as fast as Aziraphale wants to go and no faster”. Foot off the gas, lead foot on the brakes. Black treacle would have nothing on him.Which is all very easy to say, but a lot harder to actually do.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 119
Collections: Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	now is the time (for you and I to cuddle close together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/gifts).



> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
> 
> Have some soft Ineffables watching a spooky movie, where Crowley's plans get the better of him once again xD
> 
> I hope you like it Sara! <3 <3
> 
> (Title from the penultimate Halloween classic Thriller by Michael Jackson)

Crowley stalks through his plant room, glowering at the foliage one more time tonight for good measure. Everything has to be _perfect_ . He’s invited Aziraphale over, 9 pm sharp, for one of his “cinematographic films”, as Aziraphale calls them. And he has a _plan._

Just a bit of spookiness, an old horror movie classic. Something just horrid enough to send Aziraphale jumping into his arms. Yes, perfect plan.

You see, Crowley has a bit of a problem. A deeply rooted problem that he had unknowingly brought upon himself through centuries and millennia of conditioning that he hadn’t realized he was doing in the first place. Multiple lifetimes worth of years being at Aziraphale’s beck and call while making sure the angel didn’t _know_ that’s what he was doing have left him with a distinct inability to ask for what he wants.

Because he wants whatever Aziraphale wants, or at least that’s what he feels he should want.

And now it’s been two months since the failed apocalypse; since Aziraphale had reached across the table at the Ritz, trepidation shaking through his fingers, and finally — _finally_ — covered Crowley’s hand with his own. Crowley had been frozen in place and unable to react to this sudden display of affection where previously there had been none. Each slow brush of Aziraphale’s thumb against his hand a shock to his system, taking his thought process further and further out of the equation.

Aziraphale had spoken his name, broken him out of his thoughts. Said that he wanted this, wanted _their side,_ and all of the things that go with it, but would like to go slow.

Well, if there was something Anthony J. Crowley could be, it was slow. Regular tortoise if he put his mind to it. Just say the J stands for “Just as fast as Aziraphale wants to go and no faster”. Foot off the gas, lead foot on the brakes. Black treacle would have nothing on him.

Which is all very easy to _say_ , but a lot harder to actually _do._

And so they’ve been continuing with their lives; evenings with wine in the back room of the shop, dinners at the Ritz or the Savoy, walks through the park, all of it very much the same and yet oh so very different. They sat together on the couch now, instead of across from each other. Aziraphale would have one hand in Crowley’s while he enjoyed his dessert. The most memorable had been on a walk through St. James’s a mere week ago, when Aziraphale had tucked his hand into the crook of Crowley’s arm and leaned his head against Crowley’s shoulder as they walked along. Crowley had completely forgotten which of the great philosophers he’d been insulting, and found he didn’t much care after that.

But what Crowley longed to do, _yearned_ to do, he couldn’t seem to articulate. Aziraphale would ask, of course. “What are you in the mood for now, my dear?” Aziraphale would say after dinner or when the hours got long. 

And Crowley would always answer the same way, always ignore the butterflies in his stomach that now accompanied every utterance of ‘my dear’ that Aziraphale would say. 

“Whatever you want, angel. Anything at all.”

Centuries of acts of service had gotten him into a bit of a rut, so to speak. Not a bad one by any stretch, but the fear of going too fast and the need to make Aziraphale happy met in the middle to cancel each other out to a final solution of complete and utter inaction.

It was, in a word, infuriating. But Crowley has a plan.

Today is October 31stt, the big spooky day for big spooky fans like himself. He’d rented a suitably spooky movie for the occasion, and Aziraphale would be here any minute now. They could watch the movie together, on Crowley’s sofa. Maybe Crowley could wrap an arm around the angel, pull him in close when he gets scared. Hell, depending on how things go, he might chance going in for a cheek kiss. The night is full of possibilities, and all of them set Crowley’s atoms thrumming underneath his skin. 

There’s a knock at the door and he checks the clock, 8:55 pm, just a bit early. He stops by the hall mirror, makes sure his hair is perfect and that his shirt is hanging just right, before heading to the door.

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale says with a smile bright enough to drive out the darkness of night when he opens the door. Aziraphale doesn’t wait for an invite inside, knows there’s a standing invitation already.

“You’re in for a treat, angel,” Crowley says, brandishing the DVD case, “Picked up one of my favorites.”

“ _A Quiet Place_?” Aziraphale asks with a quirk of an eyebrow, “Isn’t that one of the spooky ones?”

“'Tis the season, as they say.”

“That’s what they say about _Christmas_ , dear, not All Hallow’s Eve.”

“Don’t call it that, no one calls it that anymore.”

“I do, clearly,” Aziraphale says as he makes his way to Crowley’s office, now outfitted with a comfy sofa at the perfect viewing distance from the flat-screen TV. Crowley busies himself in the kitchen, getting glasses for the wine Aziraphale has brought along with him. Aziraphale makes himself comfortable, slipping into Crowley’s space like he belongs there. He always has, after all. 

Crowley can’t help but stare, can’t believe he gets to have this now. Can’t believe he gets to see Aziraphale here, in his flat. Gets to reach out and touch whenever he wants to, whenever Aziraphale wants him to. That they’re finally on their own side, together. He flings the DVD case onto the console table, which of course makes the title menu come up on the screen 1.

“Are you _sure_ you want to watch this, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, worrying at his ring, “I’ve heard this one is rather spooky, quite the ’thriller’ as it were…”

“We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to, you know.” Crowley says a bit too quickly. All of his plans mean nothing if Aziraphale is uncomfortable in the first place. “Can always put something else on, go for a walk, whatever you want, angel.”

“Oh no, dear, I’ll be fine,” Aziraphale says with a grin as Crowley sinks into the sofa beside him, “Angels were, after all, the original jump-scares.”

“Have Adam and his friends been teaching you words again? Never mind, I don’t want to know,” Crowley trails off as Aziraphale pours the wine. “Wait, you think _I’m_ going to be scared?”

“Well, if we’re honest, which of the two of us is the soft one?”

“You, obviously,” Crowley says quickly as the movie starts, well aware of Aziraphale’s opinion of him. Words like _kind_ and _nice_ and _soft_ ; four-letter words that have no business describing a demon.

Aziraphale just smiles and sighs at him, snapping his fingers and bringing a bowl of perfectly buttered popcorn into existence to be split between them 2. His fingers entwine with Crowley’s where they lean against each other on the couch as his head finds Crowley’s shoulder, snuggling into him happily as the opening credits roll.

They munch on the popcorn, a companionable silence over the two of them as they watch. The slow drag of Aziraphale’s thumb across the side of Crowley’s sends a thrill through him, makes his stomach flutter. He can’t believe he gets to have this, gets to sit here on the couch with Aziraphale’s head on his shoulder. Their socked feet are propped on the coffee table, and Crowley gently bumps Aziraphale’s with his, gets an answering bump in return.

Aziraphale’s head shifts, tilting to look up at him. Crowley’s sunglasses are gone, no need for them around Aziraphale anymore. He lets Aziraphale study his face, watching from the corner of his eyes. Storm-gray eyes map his face, sailing over his features, love all but overflowing from Aziraphale as he looks his fill.

“What, something on my face?” Crowley asks softly, turning to face Aziraphale finally, watching the angel’s smile spread across his face like a slow sunrise.

“Nothing at all, I just like looking at you,” Aziraphale whispers as a faint red tinge paints his cheeks, “I spent so long not being able to look at you, now I don’t want to take my eyes off of you for longer than I have to.” 

It feels like Aziraphale is leaning in, but he can’t be leaning in? But his eyes are starting to close, and his face is getting closer—

There’s a sudden discordant note in the music followed by a bellowing scream. An old man in the movie is shouting as loud as he can as the dad and the kids run for their lives.

Crowley yelps and nearly jumps out of his skin; clambering up onto the back of the couch as Aziraphale stares at him. He realizes what’s happened and slowly climbs back down, and hears the tell-tale sound of a snicker being repressed.

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley says, crossing his arms and slouching down into the couch. “ _Don’t_ even start.”

“Are you alright, darling?” Aziraphale asks, still trying to stifle his laughter. It’s sneaking out of him anyway, and Crowley can feel the heat rising in his cheeks with every giggle.

“ ‘M _fine_ ,” Crowley snarls, embarrassed at being caught unaware by a movie he’s seen. But what was he supposed to do? Aziraphale had been _leaning in_ and for one bright shining moment he’d thought Aziraphale might be about to _kiss him_.

No, definitely his imagination there. Overactive as always.

“Do we need to switch the movie, dear,” Aziraphale asks, finally losing the war with his laughter, “Something a bit tamer perhaps? Since you’re so _soft_ and all.”

“Ngk…hrn… _soft is a four-letter word!”_

“Lots of others I have for you are worse than that, you know,” Aziraphale says as he sets the popcorn bowl aside and scoots closer to Crowley, “Kind, nice, dove, dear, _love_.” Crowley is so caught up in blushing deeper with every word, he doesn’t notice Aziraphale’s arm sneaking along the back of the couch until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. Before Crowley knows what’s happening, he finds himself pulled in to Aziraphale’s side, head resting on the angel’s chest.

“… good, clever, joyous, divine, sweetheart—“

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, darling?” Aziraphale looks down at him, like this is a normal occurrence. Like this proximity isn’t turning Crowley’s entire world upside down and topsy-turvy, like he _wants_ him there. He grapples for something to say, something to point out this obvious mistake, this obvious lapse in judgement.

“Those are more than four letters…” _Fuck._

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, looking a bit lost but more than a bit happy, “Suppose they are.” One of Aziraphale’s hands finds a home stroking through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley does his best not to lean into it. 

Crowley can’t form words like this, with Aziraphale’s nails gently scratching at his scalp, lulling him into an almost dreamlike state. He feels like he should say something, should ask something, anything, but he’s entirely too comfortable. Entirely too happy. Entirely too off guard.

He doesn’t even notice the lead up, obvious if he had been looking. When the monster jumps down into the silo to attack the kids and screeches, it breaks him out of his comfort and he finds himself screaming and burrowing into Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale wraps both his arms around Crowley, cooing and whispering at him, trying to calm him down, stroking a gentle touch up and down his back.

“Quite the spooky fan, darling?” Aziraphale asks, holding him tight and holding him steady. He softly —so softly that Crowley isn’t sure it’s what actually happened— presses a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, mutters affection carried on warm puffs of breath there. It breaks Crowley out of his stupor.

“Aziraphale, what is this?”

“What is what?”

“ _This!_ ” Crowley gestures to where Aziraphale is holding him, to the room in general.

Aziraphale sighs, nuzzles his nose into Crowley’s hair. It’s intoxicating, more affection than he’s sought out in the last two months. Crowley doesn’t want to go too fast, doesn’t want to mess this up.

“Darling, I love you quite terribly.”

“I love you, too, Aziraphale; you know that. But I don’t want to go too fast.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says as he gently cups Crowley’s face, tilts his head up to look at him properly, “My dear I think I am quite tired of going slow, aren’t you?”

All Crowley can do is nod as Aziraphale slowly leans in and presses their lips together. It’s soft and yet electric, six thousand years in the making, and all the sweeter for the wait. Like a fine wine, the yearning aged to perfection brought together in a soft press of lips.

The ground doesn’t shake, the sky doesn’t crack open; they’re just two beings, here on a couch in a flat in Mayfair, sharing the first kiss of what Crowley hopes will be many.

Crowley’s eyes stay closed when they break apart, he’s afraid to open them, afraid to break the spell over them here. He finally does, after a moment that seems to stretch into forever. Aziraphale looks back at him, a smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes, laugh lines dragging their tracks across his well-worn and well-loved face. He’s vibrant and glowing with happiness; happiness at having kissed Crowley.

“Gosh,” is all Crowley can manage to say as he leans in for another kiss.

A screeching yowl from one of the creatures in the movie has him jumping again for the third time tonight, right into Aziraphale’s arms again.

“ _Don’t_ ,” He says, voice muffled against Aziraphale’s chest. He can feel the shaking laughs at the source, bright and shining and ringing like music.

“Darling, how about we turn off the movie,” Aziraphale says planting a kiss in Crowley’s hair; carrying with it a love that takes root and spreads through Crowley’s heart and his soul, “And we can keep trying this new ‘kissing’ thing instead.”

Crowley snaps his fingers; the TV goes dark, and they do just that.

* * *

1 \- Everything in Crowley’s flat works based on how he expects it to, the TV is not exempt from this. It turns on because he expects it to, it plays DVDs because he rented one. The fact that he does not have a DVD player makes no difference to the physics of the universe, nor to the rental company or to Hollywood as a whole.

2 \- Popcorn is not famous for pairing with wine, especially not the type of wine that Aziraphale drinks. This being said, the popcorn wouldn’t _dare_ put off the taste of the wine, not in Crowley’s flat and not on his watch.


End file.
